


The Missions with(out) Tony.

by Emaisnialleraf



Series: Doing things with Tony. [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, But I wont, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Hogan mentioned - Freeform, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Writing doodle, and i want to apologize, i really enjoy hurting steve, not edited, steve misses his old life, tony stark mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emaisnialleraf/pseuds/Emaisnialleraf
Summary: Basically Steve had a mission that was a bit rougher than the rest, Tony wasn't there.Steve just misses home.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Doing things with Tony. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115283
Kudos: 26





	The Missions with(out) Tony.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, you know the drill.  
> Here is another little doodle I found in my drafts (I wasn't even looking for it, was lost in hundreds of random paragraphs without homes).  
> I really liked it, thought it was a bit deeper than I am used to seeing in my writing, however it must of been an early AM sketch because I don't even remember typing it up. 
> 
> Anyway. Not edited, not really scoped through, just read and immediately posted. 
> 
> I have found that this account is mainly just scraps of unfinished stories from my google drive that I forgot existed.

Each breath after the ice had felt just as cold, they froze him to the bone and sent shivers down his spine each time he was forced to move forward without any familiarity in this generation. He felt painfully alone, overly exhausted and completely out of place regardless of how many people were around him. Nothing felt real and each step he took he felt like he was going to slip through the cracks and land back in 1945 with Bucky across from him in the tent and his captain calling their name from across the trench. The smell of heavy pollution randomly took over his senses, he swore he heard children shouting out for newspapers on sale and the familiar squeals of breaks as children ran through the streets playing.  
Nothing was as it used to be and he was beginning to fall back into the waves, drowning in the icy depths all over again until a familiar hand reached in and pulled him out.  
It wasn’t even a hand at first, it was a red gauntlet, clinking and whirring with sound each time it shifted to wrap around his wrist. The beam of light guided him up and into the sunlight, into the warmth he so desperately craved. He began to feel normal and staring into those warm brown eyes quickly started to feel like home.  
Everything shifted into a place and at moments he was too comfortable, but that familiar voice always seemed to bring him back. No matter how claustrophobic he began to feel in the streets, how chilled the air grew up his limbs, or even how scattered his mind began to feel, that hand was in his. Those fingers were trailing down his spine and everything just slowly, yet perfectly began to slide back into place. 

Even on days like this. 

The days missions went wrong, the days Peggy forgot who he was, the day’s Bucky’s memorial once again gave him the wrong information despite how many times he told Tony that no, Buck didn’t have that many days in war and he wasn’t killed in action that day he fell from the train.  
Each weekend he spent alone when Tony had to travel for a conference, the times there was too much food on the shelves in the grocery store, or even when he heard the backfire of those motorcycles and swore he was seven feet down in the soil screaming for his men to keep moving forward despite who was left lying behind.  
The times he felt most alone, the hero of his city was right there, calling him back and promising that he wasn’t. No matter what year it was, no matter who was back in the old days and who was in the present, he still stood next to him. 

Especially on days like this. 

There was another attack.  
It wasn’t a man from another planet trying to gain control of their own. It wasn’t a robotic being programmed to take them down at all costs. It wasn’t a war-ridden human desperate to avenge the loss of their family in response to another war that had taken place.

It was a human being,  
It was a man who grew up with a happy family in a small city just a few hours away from here. A man named Trevor who had so many friends in his school days, joined band and got a scholarship despite his math grades that he couldn’t keep up. He had a sister named Melanie and a little brother named Calum raised by Joseph and Colleen Fraiser until he moved out at the age of twenty.  
Trevor had no diagnosis, he had no bad marks on his record and everyone who knew him said he was a kind soul who had so much love for everyone he met.  
But Trevor wasn’t happy. 

Trevor had lost his way and brought so many people with him when he left the earth today.  
Each time he shot a bullet from that gun it took another life, tearing apart families, friends, and a total of twenty souls. People who hadn’t lived their lives yet, who never got to travel the word. Never got to graduate highschool, never got to get married and have kids of their own.  
He ruined so many lives and Steve was called in to stop him because he was off missions and he was closest to the scene.  
But, he got there too late.  
The last bullet was for himself and as Steve walked through those silent hallways he couldn’t keep his eyes off the bodies that lay ahead of him.  
There were other men, there were women, there was a teenager at the very end of the hall with tears still dripping down her cheeks even as the color had left the young face and her skin had begun to grow cold. 

He carried the bodies out, ignoring the smell of the bodies that had been there longer than others. Ignoring the screams of the mothers outside the parking lot as they recognized their child in his arms motionless.  
He ignored the microphones in his face trying to get a story. New York times calling for a word despite the way he walked opposite their direction to inform police of what he saw when they were finally able to get to him. 

Steve had a really hard day today and not even Happy could get him to speak when he was driven back to the building. It was only a few blocks from the tower, he had no reason for a plane, but the dried scuffs and stains kept him from taking the walk to get lost in his thoughts. The vehicle was waiting for him by the time the coroners arrived, he was no longer needed and he forced himself to nod and to leave.  
And now here he was, sitting on a barstool, head in his hands as he stared at the counter and tried to hold back his emotions. He didn’t know those victims, he didn’t know those parents, yet a piece of him felt like he did. Hearing someone sob like that was personal. It was a form of a person you only see when they trust you enough to do so, but in this case he was in a setting no parent should ever have to be in. 

So he didn’t move.  
He gave a moment of silence that ran too long.

Until arms slid around his waist and leaned against his back as lips pressed gently against the shell of his ear. The voice was so gentle as it called his name, trying to snap him out of his mind, but it wouldn’t work this time.


End file.
